


The Moonlit Gourd

by lexycalliope



Series: The Champion Vai [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Family Drama, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexycalliope/pseuds/lexycalliope
Summary: It's been sixty years since the Calamity struck. Sixty years since Impa watched the kingdom she swore to protect burn to cinders before her eyes. After many years of poor decision making, her only daughter leaves behind not only the scarred realm of Hyrule and her mother, but her own infant, as well.Impa has a simple decision to make. Will she let her past decisions engulf her again?
Series: The Champion Vai [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718098
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	The Moonlit Gourd

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this is just a lil one shot I'm writing that's been on my mind for a few days. I really like where I'm going with Impa's backstory, and a few of my commenters were too, so I thought I'd do something with the ideas in my head. Obviously since its part of my The Champion Vai series, its part of the same canon and all that.
> 
> While yes, it is an Impa story, I think its just as important of a story in relation to Paya as well, and I think you'll see why c: 
> 
> If you're coming here and haven't read The Champion Vai, you should be able to understand this one based off of the summary alone.

“Come on, little one.” She heaved, setting the child down, her rather panicked breathing did not slow as she plopped down in front of her. “Goodness you are heavier than you look.” The woman ran her fingers through her hair, gripping the strands like she was fully prepared to pull them from their roots. 

She could hardly think properly, the cold sweat and disorientation of being one week sober wracked her body like the worst Hylian hay fever, not to mention the adrenaline that was fading fast through her veins. It was tortuous, as her days had her sweating profusely, with nights so sleepless and daunting, bringing with them little sleep and uncomfortable thrashings between thin sheets.

It was only relatively comforting to be back in Kakariko, even if the townspeople did not enjoy her company in the slightest. She pulled her legs toward herself and hugged her body, watching the girl from across the room stare at her with big auburn eyes. 

“What am I meant to do, now?” She asked, exhausted. “She’s gone, little one.” 

The baby did not surprise her with an answer, she simply leaned down on her hands and began to crawl in no particular direction, babbling nonsense like a begging village cat.

“I followed her to the end of the realm. Do you think I did not try hard enough?” Her voice caught in her throat, dry and taut from yelling and pleading. "It's most likely unfair to even ask, we both know I did not."

Her withdrawal bucked her like a mule, more than it ever had. She had never been sober for this long, she so missed the burn of her favorite rice wine against her throat. She wanted it more than life-giving water, more than the most plentiful bounty she could even  _ dream _ of. No, she did not miss it, she did not want it. 

She  _ needed  _ it. 

Impa stood up, nervously lolling from side to side on the heels of her feet as she looked down on the child. Her conscious was split, a case of decision paralysis took her over, and she began pacing the room. She could, in that moment, slide open and close the door to her little hovel to grab the gourd full of the powerful wine she had stashed behind it. 

Or, she could...

The baby tripped on her own hands and knocked her head against the rather hard wooden flooring, causing Impa's stress to triple as she inhaled a sympathetic breath through her teeth.

_ “Ah, you little fool!”  _ She hissed quietly, grabbing the swaddling blanket she had brought her in with, and scooped her up inside as she began to cry. 

“H-hey, no need for that, no tears, no tears.” She began unsurely, rocking her gracelessly on her heels.

She sighed, defeated and drowning in that incessant noise. A wave of nausea in the pit of her stomach felt like a mixture of a punch and a burning iron. It was all so utterly hopeless, it was all too much to handle.

She began to cry as well.

Perhaps it was the wailing of this child, this maternal alarm telling her she was doing something wrong that hit her as hard as it did, but she sobbed silently as she rocked the life in her arms. “Come, little petal, please don't cry.” 

Impa wanted so badly not to lose herself at this, not to let this beat her, but oh, it did. She had not cried in so very long, but the wail of her granddaughter beat her over the head with its message. The way the cries of her daughter once unphased her, this cry cut into her heart like a poisoned dagger. She could not recall any possible way to calm her, no nursery rhyme or pacifying tune could she call to the forefront of her mind, and it made Impa freeze like a deer in a trap. She stood still in the middle of her home, rocking the baby until both her and the child were quiet, which took much, much longer than she could have expected.

Her ankles ached from her lack of movement, from the shifting weight she was pressing them down with.

It was sinking in, the reality of her situation. 

Her last semblance of familial bond other than the one swaddled in her arms had taken a cargo boat off of the coast of Hateno, and had sailed to parts unknown. 

"Do you think Dorian will forgive me for borrowing his horse? I returned it, so he cannot be too upset." She chuckled humorlessly, staring down at the sniffling baby in her arms and thinking of the events of that morning, how they all blurred together as soon as she awoke to the note her daughter had placed beside her pillow.

She peeked out of her home, not the largest house in the village, unkempt and covered in untended leaves and messy overgrown shrubbery. It was nightfall, the sunset fireflies began to light up the dark town and its dusty paths. She stepped out with the intent to get food, her empty stomach growled and twisted itself in painful knots, but she could not call herself hungry in the slightest. The lack of alcohol in her system made her feel sick just  _ thinking  _ of food, but the life in her arms must have been starving for it. 

The episode this morning should have been it for her, should have been the straw that broke Kakariko's back. As far as Impa was concerned, she deserved nothing less than exile for the horrors she put them all through. But, here they all slept within their homes, windows darker than a winter forest, for it was far too late for a soul to be awake. She wondered how many had ended the day talking about her, how the village drunk had stolen the town’s only farmer’s horse in an attempt to stop the whims of fate.

She approached the center of the village, the droning sounds of restless crickets fought for dominance against the rushing waterfall into Lantern Lake. She sadly scanned the offering baskets, meant for worship of Hylia herself, often filled with fruits and various trinkets to appease the goddess and earn her favor.

She bent down, reaching for a mushy apple in the middle basket, before she was stopped by a hissing, angry voice that chilled the blood in her veins. 

" _ Hey!"  _ Dorian whispered angrily, "You degenerate, get away from there!" 

He came stomping over, the clack of his sandals against the dirt he was slightly kicking up in his wake accentuated his frustration.

"I was just getting something to-" 

"To  _ eat?! _ You steal my horse and now you steal from Hylia herself, how co-" he fell silent, noticing the bundle in her arms that stirred and cooed, making little grunts of confusion. His shoulders slumped, his arms fell back by his sides in defeat. "Why do  _ you _ have the child? Where is her mother?"

Impa could not produce an answer for a moment, her head ached at his frustrated questioning, at his understandably furious tone.

"She's left, Dorian. I could not stop her. She had her mind set." 

He stood there in the dark of night watching her with obvious pity, his anger smouldering.

"You," he began through his teeth, "you are too old for this, drunkard.  _ I  _ am too old for this." He stopped, about to continue on another tirade of venomous words, but it exited his body through a sigh out of his nose. 

"Come, wait outside of my home. I will fetch the youth something to eat." 

She followed reluctantly behind him, past his fences and stood silently at his front door. The man slid the door to his home behind him, and she heard the strike of a match. She listened to the sounds of the various farm animals in the pen he kept attached to his property. There was a muffled argument from inside, words about Dorian being up too late as he leaned to light the lantern on his windowsill. 

"Yes, I know." He mumbled, his window-fogged form seen blowing out the match and backing away from the pinkish lantern. She heard him fumbling with something, and noticed the ever increasing aggravation of his wife. 

"Yes, the horse is fine. He's been penned."

Another mumbled voice. Impa heard a chest being swung open, its rickety joints squeaked from behind the door.

"Yes, he's been fed." 

Yet another more upset and confused mumbling bled through his home's thin walls.

"I am not feeding him again, this is for the woman who stole him." As he opened the door, Impa heard Dorian's wife begin an uproar of untethered anger, speaking in expletives. It was hard to gather just what she said, but the wishes of death were clear through what was unintelligible. Dorian spoke over her, holding out a basket. It was too dark to see what was inside of it, the only thing properly illuminated was the side of Dorian's face, his eyes sunken and his beard unshaven.

"Take this. There's a gourd for water in there as well. Do you hear? For  _ water. _ I don't care who you protected when you were young, Impa. Not any longer, I don't. If I so much as smell alcohol and see you at the same time, you will not see this village again, nor will you see that babe in your arms, I promise you that."

She nodded, her mouth dry under the judgement of him and his raving wife. 

"Get out, before my wife decides her words aren't enough to express herself." 

"Thank you, thank you Dorian." She mumbled meekly, one arm held the child against her shoulder, the other held the basket with a tightened grip. 

The man wordlessly slumped back into his home, and slid his door shut tight. 

She filled the gourd full of rushing water, before walking quickly to her own home, noting the windows of Kakariko lit from the commotion earlier, heads peeking out to see Impa trying to dart from their gazes.

“All right, petal.” She slid her rickety door shut, its creaky joints were weak and threatening to fall apart from misuse. “Let’s get your belly filled.” Setting the little girl down, she re-lit her few sources of light she had blown out when they departed, and rifled through what she was given.

Her feverish withdrawal tingled her skin in the humid night, sweat beading and falling from the wrinkles on her forehead.

“Let us see, we have bananas, berries, papaya...oh, even…” She pulled a jar of milk from the basket, corked with a label painted in black upon its clear glass. “Milk.” She said, surprised. She had a hard time understanding why he would simply give her something he generally sold for quite a profit. Of course, it wasn't for her, but the gesture was all too sweet.

She uncorked the bottle, the popping sound startled the bright-eyed child sitting in front of her and made her giggle. She smelled the freshness of the milk, it was enough to make her sensitive stomach tighten, but it was indeed nowhere near the point of curdling.

She filled the cap of the drinking gourd Dorian gave her with milk, a rounded little cup of clay meant to preserve freshness inside of the container. 

She did not know how to offer it to an eight month old baby, however, looking between the babbling youth and the little cup unassuredly. 

“Here child, drink.” She held the cup in the palm of her hand, and presented the drink like one would to an adult. The baby took one look at it and grabbed it with her uncoordinated hands, its container sloshing the liquid onto her swaddling blanket before she dropped it completely and continued to babble incoherently. 

_ Oh Hylia, I am an idiot. _

“No, foolish monkey.” She said, frustrated as she toweled up the mess with her own robes. She poured the toppled cap back full of milk, and scooted the baby over to her by her blanket. It was like trying to put together a puzzle, getting the girl in a position well enough to tip the cap to let her drink, but she got her there. From a confused expression, the girl’s eyes widened and she began drinking gracelessly, taking control and tipping the cup up with her chubby hands until it was empty. 

“Ah, aha,” She chuckled, “you  _ were _ thirsty.” She said confidently, repeating the same steps with water, and then milk, until her granddaughter suddenly forewent drinking altogether with an annoyed grunt. 

“Suit yourself.” She said teasingly, taking a swig of water and struggling to keep it down in her stomach. She winced, but did not want to upset the girl sitting in front of her. “Let’s see what we have to eat, hm?” 

She peeled back the nearly too ripe banana she was given, and broke a piece off. 

“He was kind enough to give us food fit for a child with no teeth, you are lucky.” She offered it to the girl’s hands, and after messily lifting it up to her mouth and tasting a small bite, she made the most disgusted face, and threw it onto the ground. 

“Wha, disrespectful!” She chuckled at how this child’s face scrunched up like an old man’s. “Well, we have more options.” She said, picking up a handful of berries from the bottom of the basket. “Try.” 

The little girl grabbed the wildberry from between Impa’s fingers, and tossed it on the floor before breaking out into a fit of giggles. 

Impa sighed, and held a berry up before tossing it in her own mouth. The sour fruit tasted like bile to the woman in the deepest parts of alcohol withdrawal, but she powered through it and opened her mouth to show that she had eaten it. 

“See? Your turn. I know you’re hungry, you have to be.” 

Impa gently put a wildberry in the girl's mouth, and after a second or two of a confused expression, she spit it out onto the floor. The stressed woman stared blankly at the mess for a moment, and wondered how this miscreant was at all related to her by blood. 

“Okay, let us try again.” She started, getting up and taking a moment to steady her dizzied mind before grabbing from under her bed a little knife. “Let’s try papaya.” 

She sat back down, cross legged with a papaya so perfect it was befitting of a painting, and began to carve at it. 

“You know, my mother would have stopped at the banana.” She began, slicing off a very thin, very small piece of the fruit and held it out. “Probably would have made me eat it off of the floor if I threw it like you did, too. Let’s see how far you can toss this one, hm?” The little girl bent her head forward, and took a toothless bite of the fruit. 

Her bright eyes widened, and she grabbed the slice for herself, and began bouncing up and down on her bottom.

“I’m shocked!” Impa exclaimed, a triumphant feeling washed over her, a genuine smile from seeing such a display of pure happiness.

“You’re awfully cute when you smile, it's enough to make this old crow smile, too.” She handed the girl another bigger slice, and was astonished at how quickly the child put it away. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone eat so quickly, let alone an infant."

As she continued the cycle of slicing the soft flesh of the papaya and handing it to her granddaughter, she studied her cute, rosy cheeks, her little white eyebrows that looked like tiny brush strokes of white paint, and her full head of silvery white hair. 

"You look like a bowl of whipped cream with a head of hair like that, the girls in the village will be jealous of how thick it is. You have my genes to thank for that." Her granddaughter responded with little more than grabby hands and strung together gibberish. 

"You talk more than Link did, that's for certain." 

It hurt quite a bit to bring up such memories from her past, but her mind often did it anyway, a reason she took to drinking so often. 

The infant took another chunk from her hand, Impa nearly expected her fingers to be chomped off. It was like she was feeding a rabid animal, one who was only sated after eating a full half of the fruit.

"You devoured so much. How much of you is papaya now, hm? One third?" Her heart melted as the little girl's eyelids grew heavy, her glistening dark brown pupils glittering in the candle light of her hovel as she let out a big yawn.

"Okay, little papaya, I know a sleepy face when I see one. Let's put you to bed, yes?" 

The girl knew just what was happening as she was tucked in next to Impa's usual spot in her futon. Impa stood, her back popping in protest, and looked at her own sleeping situation. She'd have plenty of room to sleep. 

She fell fast asleep in her blanket, and Impa's mind questioned how this girl was so mild mannered, so quiet. Usually, all of the babies born in the village would cry ad nauseum, sometimes waking up the entirety of Kakariko with their wails, but this girl did nothing but babble and giggle, occasionally throwing little bouts of grumpy frustration at things she did not care for, which to Impa, was absolutely adorable.

Everything about this little papaya was absolutely adorable to her.

And to think it's been eight months since she'd properly seen how much of a smile this bundle of joy could give her. She began to not regret the promise of sobriety she made to herself that week ago, and felt a sudden compulsion as she looked down upon the girl, a compulsion that she simply had to seize, one that would not be laced with regret by the time it was over. 

She took one last look of the baby, and crept out of her home and tip-toed in the long weeds hugging it's wooden frame. Behind the bushes, nestled with care next to the rocky wall that shielded Kakariko on the hill that it stood sat the moonlit gourd of rice wine.

There was no time to think, no time for second thoughts. She positioned herself quickly. 

_ Thunk! _

She kicked a hole in the bottom of the gourd with her wooden sandal, the sounds of rushing liquid falling into the grass and into the soil was a tragic sound to her parched ears, but it was necessary.

Severing this tie was necessary, that much she knew just by her granddaughter, who slept inside her messy home. She could smell the rice wine, pungent but alluring, the call of an abusive lover saying sweet and gentle words. She slipped off the sandal half soaked in alcohol and threw it spitefully at the gourd, before lamely hobbling to the back door of her home and slowly sliding the door open. 

After a quick blow to the candles that kept the room lit, she crawled into her bed as gently as she could, fully ready for a night of restless sleep. Yes, the night would be feverish, but perhaps this torturous episode would be worth it, perhaps this would be a new chapter to her.

She put on the best whisper she could, the little life beside her was heard breathing in short, cute huffs.

"Goodnight, little papaya."

**Author's Note:**

> I. Hope. You. Enjoyed. 
> 
> I love you all c:


End file.
